


Bucky Falls (Again)

by chelsealoowho



Series: Marvel High School- The Marvel Heroes [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Crushes in high school are soul crushing, Depression, F/M, Friendship, I dunno how to tag tbh, I'm not gonna tag the ships until they happen tbh, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Unrequited Love, its a surprise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-12-14 23:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelsealoowho/pseuds/chelsealoowho
Summary: Ten months. It has been ten months since Bucky has set foot in school. After getting hit by a car, losing an arm, falling into "the wrong crowd," using drugs and coping with his problems in illegal ways, rehab, the psych ward, and therapy, Bucky is back in school. But he doesn't feel like he belongs anymore (not that he felt the warm and fuzzies from his peers before).His friends have all made new friends and he feels sidelined. Calling Steve, Clint or Nat "friends" felt like a stretch, but he didn't want to lose them.(This is a fic about friendship and the ups and downs of maintaining it)





	1. Back to School (Mini Maggit)

Bucky couldn’t deal with the words and sentences and  _ feelings _ coming from Steve’s mouth. Bucky couldn't deal with a lot of things, but he had hoped that Steve of all people would know that and not  _ lecture  _ him about his very big and very terrible mistakes.

 

Bucky sighed softly and placed his forehead against the cool window of the pick-up truck as Steve finally stopped to catch his breath and asked, “Did you even hear a word I said, Bucky?” 

 

Bucky ignored Steve’s question and kept staring out the window. He heard every damn word and it stung worse than anything else anybody had said to him in recent months because Steve was Bucky’s closest and oldest friend. Every morning for the past week on the way to school, Steve would drive and criticize and question his best friend for recent adolescent mistakes. It was always the same spiel of, “What the fondue were you thinking?” with a mix of accusatory, “I can’t believe you did that!  You know better!” and Bucky’s favorite, “You should have told me I could have helped you, Bucky.”  A pleading that cut him deep. But it didn’t matter now, because what is done cannot be undone. And damn, Bucky had come undone.

 

The last year had been a whirlwind of incredibly stupid decisions Bucky made simply to test his limitations and kill his emotions. He was struggling with an unrequited crush on someone he shouldn't have a crush on. He was recovering from losing his left arm. He wanted to pain to cease and desist. He wanted to throw everything into the void but since that was impossible, he took up drugs, avoided family and friends, stayed out all weekend, and fucked whomever would give him the time of day. 

 

Bucky hadn't told anyone the full story. He hinted at the heinous things he had done to himself….and some others. If his mom, the therapist, his friends, the police or anyone found at the full extent of his transgressions, he doubted he'd be allowed back into society.

  
  


Steve’s repertoire of letdown and hurt and criticism had finally subsided—for now, as they were finally in the school parking lot. As soon as Steve had put the truck in  _ Park _ , Bucky opened the door with his good arm and jumped out as quick as lightning, fumbling his bag to the ground, he hastily picked it up, not looking back to see Steve in near tears, or Clint coming up to the truck with the usual AM coffee rounds. He silently made his way to class and dared not look a soul in the eye. Everyone but his friends avoided Bucky since his return to school last Thursday like he was The Bubonic Plague. Not that he could blame them, anyway. He was always skirting around being cool and being a pariah. The only reason anyone paid him any mind before was because his best friend was the school's star quarterback. Now they taunted him, belittled him, or flat-out refused to acknowledge his existence, even if Steve was right beside him.

 

_ Steve _ . Perfect fucking Steve with his altruism, kindness, great hair, sports skills and all-around good nature. Bucky was jealous of Steve. Bucky also sometimes  _ hated  _ Steve for the easy way he could talk with people, make them feel special and worthy (even though they weren't worthy of Steve’s attention), the way Steve stood up for people and defended them.  _ Guhawd,  _ he was jealous. 

 

The first part of the day passed slower than usual. Bucky hadn't slept the night before and he skimped out on Clint’s coffee; he was dragging and nearly fell asleep in his English with Mr. Howlett, but that would have been a disaster. He did take a brief nap in History; he stayed far away from Clint and Natasha in Biology (and anyway, there was a new kid in his seat that hit it off with Clint (that made Bucky very jealous and angry)). Clint tried to Sign with him, but Bucky only had one arm these days and it was hard to carry a conversation, so ignored Clint’s, “ _ Are you okay?” _

 

In Photography, he helped hang Peter Parker’s candids of random students up and took down the developed school landscape portraits in the darkroom; the darkroom was Bucky’s favorite room in the whole fucking school because no one was allowed in there except for Peter Parker, Mr. Jameson, the Faculty Yearbook Advisor, and himself. 

 

As he was taking down the landscapes, something caught his eye. Between the lush football fields and the sparkling new natatorium, there were the overgrown baseball diamonds with the crumbling concession stand and rusty bleachers. The Wasteland. No one had gone to the Wasteland in years. Not since the school was locked down for lunch; when teachers could smoke on campus; when students were wearing ten layers of plaid and getting high under the bleachers; before baseball died as a sport in the regional area, there was the Outcast Oasis under the bleachers where kids slinked off to mildly misbehave. And now it was just nothing but a waste of precious acres of land and a soulless retreat. 

 

Bucky was going to make his way there for lunch and avoid all confrontation with his so-called friends.

 

Bucky spent the rest of Photography class listening to Peter Parker talk about lenses and lighting effects in the darkroom. He became rather animated about cameras and scenery and occasionally ventured off onto the topic of girls or boys, but luckily, nothing seemingly major. Parker didn’t bother Bucky; he was good natured and didn’t ask stupid questions about Bucky’s summertime incident. 

 

In fact, it was Parker who chose Bucky as his class partner knowing they would be spending most of the time on the school grounds or in the darkroom away from everyone else. And Bucky thanked him every day for that. Bucky felt the need to start anew; but not wash away his friends entirely….Just a little break couldn’t hurt, right? 

 

When Bucky was released from the Facility, his parents had a little dinner and invited his closest friends. Clint was cracking light-hearted jokes in an attempt to get Bucky to laugh. Steve sat right next to Bucky, as always. But instead of talking about football, Peggy and college: he was somber, quiet and removed. Exactly how Bucky felt. Natasha was the boldest and straight-up asked why he did it. This caused a long silence and everyone looked down at their plates. It was not a good night and now Bucky wished his  _ friends _ had never came over.

 

But now, in the darkroom mere moments before the bell rang, Bucky helped Peter clean up the chemicals as Peter went on about a new student. “He’s really weird, man. I hit him in the face with a door and he hasn’t threatened to beat me up once. It is a miracle!” Peter laughed as the bell rang and Bucky wished him a good day. 

 

Now this was the tricky part: Bucky had to avoid being seen by Nat, Clint, Steve, or even Sam as he made his way to his new fortress of solitude. Bucky went left towards the exit and slinked his way around the building once outside. Luckily, the grounds were on the opposite side of the Commons and no one went out onto the grounds during lunch. But just in case, Bucky hoofed it quickly, taking cover behind bleachers and concession stands. He made a beeline for the abandoned restrooms and took a seat on the ancient, nonfunctioning porcelain throne. He kicked the stall door closed, placed his backpack on his lap and let out a sigh that echoed. Bucky felt an ease wash over him as he finally relaxed his tense shoulders and muscles; no one was hovering over him, asking him stupid questions about his mental state; making sure he wasn’t going to do anything life threatening. 

 

He sighed again. It echoed again.

 

Strange, sighs usually don’t echo so loudly. 

 

The tension was returning to his body. He felt uneasy. Was there someone else in the Wasteland restroom? Did they just walk in all ninja-like or were they here before Bucky? Did one of his friends follow him? Did someone else follow him? Too afraid to look under the stall for signs of feet, Bucky pulled up his own legs, quietly. 

 

“So,” came a cocky voice from another stall, “What brings you here?”

 

Bucky didn’t respond. Bucky didn’t even move. 

 

“You wanna talk about?” asked the voice. 

 

Bucky heard a shuffling of feet and a stall door opening. “Come on, man, you can’t play dead when I heard you come in and slam the door closed.” The voice was right outside Bucky’s stall, he could see the pristine Chucks from under the door. “Come on, I’m not here to judge.”

 

The stall door began to move. The other person was pushing open the door and before Bucky knew it, Tony Fuckin' Stark was standing in the doorway. “So, you wanna talk about it?” He asked again, a look of smug concern on his face.

 

So, “Fuckin'” wasn’t a proper noun when it came to Stark; but it was definitely a verb Stark did… well…. and often…. apparently… according to the gossip…. 

 

Honestly, Bucky had no clue about that.

 

Some social outcasts had run through Bucky’s head while the door slowly opened,but Tony Stark was the least expected person to make a cameo in a dingy place like the Wasteland. 

 

Stark was the definition of Cool Kid. He had money, looks, personality, students and teachers alike were bending over backwards to kiss his well-toned ass. He even had brains for a Cool Kid, which my Marvel High’s standards made him The Coolest Kid. Stark was even cooler than All-Star football captain, Steve. But Steve and his friends didn't associate with Tony and his group.

 

But no, it was him, the Rich-ass, suave mofo everyone flocked to and wanted to be. Bucky stayed firmly planted on the toilet, unwilling to move out of disbelief and the fact that Stark was blocking the doorway. He should have left school grounds, but that was too much effort. And Bucky had no effort to give anymore. Stark took two steps back allowing space between the two, 

 

“So, what brings you here, Barnes?” Stark had his usual mischievous smirk on but up close Bucky wasn’t so sure it was legit. 

 

“Just, ya know, wanted a quiet place to eat my bologna sandwich, Stark.” Bucky realized how strange it must have looked for him to still be seated on an old decrepit toilet with no bologna sandwich in sight, let alone a lunch bag. He stood up and walked out of the stall, shimmying past Stark as he awkwardly made his way to the sinks.

 

He played it cool and leaned on the wall-mounted sink basin. Bucky felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, he ignored it. 

 

“Fascinating,” Stark chimed looking around Bucky and seeing no hint of a lunch bag, “So, you could have gone a hundred other places to sit and eat and mope—‘cause I know that’s what you were really doing: Escaping. But you chose to come here,” Stark gestured all around him in disgust, “An abandoned public school restroom with graffiti and flies and severe sewage problems that makes the  _ Candyman _ films look like five-star resorts.” 

 

“Yeah. Totally.” Bucky mumbled in agreement. “Wait. Why are you here, Stark?” 

 

“To smoke some weed.” He said flatly and pulled out a baggie from the back of his designer jeans and held it up to Bucky, “Wanna be my accomplice?” 

 

Stark winked. Bucky winced. 

 

Bucky had done a plethora of stupid and illegal things in the last calendar year, but smoking cannabis was nothing compared to all those things. Why the hell not? He needed a new outlet; a new way to escape. He couldn’t steal liquor from his parents anymore. He wasn’t allowed to drive due to reckless endangerment. His drug dealer had disappeared and he couldn’t ask around for more sources without raising suspicions and more frequent “random” drug-testing. He was out of options of escaping reality and living dangerously. But now, Tony Fucking Stark was offering him marijuana and Bucky Barnes could not refuse. 

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed quietly. And with that, the two teens took a seat in the middle of the floor and started to roll joints. After the first few hits, Bucky started to feel relaxed and mellow. He had no idea how soothing such a simple green plant could be so miraculous. He always thought of weed as weak and pointless, so he jumped the gun and started to do hard drugs as a means of exiting reality. Boy, that was a mistake. But the past year had been one giant mistake. 

 

“How long have you been coming here?” Bucky made a pass at conversation. 

 

“A few weeks,” Stark replied. He was laying on his side, head propped up with one hand and the other holding a blunt. “No one is here. It’s relaxing.” He took a hit and passed it to Bucky. 

 

“Ah, man, you don’t like it when the dames follow you around everywhere?” Bucky joked. Stark simply shook his head. Bucky could relate. But gorgeous girls didn’t follow him around: it was a male nurse in the psych ward and it was considered “suicide watch.” A few moments passed and neither one of them said a thing. They passed the remaining joint around until it was gone and stayed lost in their respective thoughts. Bucky’s phone started to vibrate again; he whipped it out and took a glance at it. It was Natasha. He let it ring until she was sent to voicemail. There were also missed calls from Clint and Steve accompanied by texts and voicemails. He really didn’t care that his friends had called. He turned it off and shoved it in his bag. 

 

“Are your lovers calling, Bucky?” Stark asked, sitting up. 

 

“Just, just my friends. Seeing if I’m still alive.” Bucky looked up at Stark and realized Stark’s face was a mere foot away from his own. 

 

“Are you,” Stark asked, “Are you really alive in there?” Stark’s facial expressions had taken a complete turn from the norm. Instead of looking lighthearted, carefree, curious with a hint of belligerence, he looked severe and stern. It was unsettling —not Stark’s face, but his question. 

 

Bucky really didn’t know if he was alive inside. He didn’t understand what that meant. He was baffled. A hollow feeling began to swell in his chest, his wrist began to tingle. He didn’t want to feel that again. That hollow helplessness: a need to fill the void with anything and everything he could get his hands on.

 

“No,” he whispered, “I don’t feel alive.” 


	2. I Believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so thankful for Anon's comment on here!! You really made my day with that!! <3  
> I'm also just gonna dump this chapter here and not cross-check it to last chapter's timeline because I want to update this and then update other fics!

Stark continued to stare deep into Bucky’s eyes. It could have been erotic if they weren’t in a disgusting, abandoned restroom and there weren't tears streaming down Bucky’s cheeks.

 

But then again, maybe the tears  and B-Rated horror film-esque setting were a turn on for Stark.

 

“You good, Barnes?” Stark asked gently, placing his hand on Bucky’s knee.

 

Of course he wasn't good! Bucky’s whole life had fallen apart three times in his short seventeen years of life! What kind of fucking question was that? Isn’t Stark supposed to be some sort of genius? Couldn’t he  _ see  _ Bucky was  _ not good?  _ He only had one arm, for fucks sake! He had just been released from a fucking drug rehabilitation facility! Not that many people knew that, but Bucky  _ knows  _ Tony Stark knows too much for his own damn good!

 

And then there was Stark’s misplaced hand on his knee. Why did Tony Stark think it was okay to put his hands on Bucky? Because they had a few blunts together in the  _ nastiest  _ toilet Bucky had ever seen? Because he was stoned out of his mind and his guard was down? Because Stark might actually like him? Or Stark had heard the  _ rumors _ ? Because, because Bucky was  _ easy? _

 

_ Fuck! _

 

Bucky plucked Stark’s hand off his knee and pushed it back towards it owner, “I'm not like that…not anymore,” he whispered, not making eye contact and wiping the tears from his face.

 

“I never wanted that, James.” Stark whispered back.

 

Bucky looked everywhere except Stark’s eyes, trying to get his thoughts composed, trying to  _ not  _ look at Tony Fuckin’ Stark. But Tony Fuckin’ Stark still had his brown eyes locked on Bucky’s face. Stark’s gaze made Bucky uncomfortable; it was like when Steve would just  _ stare  _ at him with his sad blue eyes, trying to figure out exactly where  _ he _ went wrong in the friendship. Or when Natasha would bore holes through his mind, trying to read his fucking thoughts. Sometimes, he felt like she could read his mind, so he sang the Barney theme on repeat in his mind, just in case. Why did the feel the need to constantly make sure he was  _ “Okay?” _

 

Bucky let out a sigh, “Then what do you want?” He finally asked.

 

“A friend,”

 

Bucky snorted before he could stop himself; Tony Stark had many friends. He was the coolest guy in school. He was never without a flock of boys and girls following him around. Tony Fuckin’ Stark had  _ everything  _ going for himself. So he had no use for Bucky Fuck-Up Barnes.  Bucky had no idea what game Stark was playing, but he didn't want to be a piece of it.

 

“Listen, Stark, thanks for the weed, it was very relaxing. More relaxing than heroin, honestly, but I don't know you and you don't know me, so let's stop this before it starts, yeah?” Bucky finally looked back at Stark, challengingly.

 

Stark didn't look away, he locked eyes with Bucky again: emotions were quickly passing through his eyes but Bucky wasn't trying to decode the meaning of any of it. He didn't want  _ this.  _ Whatever  _ this  _ could be.

 

Stark's eyes finally settled, “Fine, Requiem for a Dream, but if you change your mind, lemme know….” Stark stood up and held out his hand for Bucky, “I'm here for you,” he added, tentatively.

 

“Yeah, will do,” Bucky lied.

 

He didn't need Stark. He didn't need Steve. He didn't need Nat or Clint or  _ Sam. _ He just needed to  _ not be here. _

 

Bucky slung  his backpack over his good shoulder, stood up, giving Stark one last look-over. He gave him a weak smile that he hoped wouldn't mean anything except for,  _ ‘Thanks for the weed,’ _ and hurried out of the nasty-ass restroom.

 

He took his phone out of his backpack pocket, turning it on and shoving it into his jacket pocket. He should check the messages and respond to one. Maybe he'd only respond to Steve; Steve would then send Bucky's response to everyone else like the  _ good friend  _ he is. He made his way across the unkept baseball diamond, the high noon sun beating down on his skin and warming him in the most unpleasant of ways. Of all the things he missed while he was locked away, he missed the sun the most. the shining freedom it represented.  Now, standing under it, he realized he missed the darkness of night more.

 

He looked up into the sky, eyes squinted closed and let out an exasperated sigh. 

 

He looked behind him to see if Stark was following, but he was nowhere in sight. Bucky turned back to the foreboding high school building, quickening his pace to get to class. He turned around the soccer field and was met with the sight of someone he did not think he would ever see again.

 

The short kid was hovering around the fence that separated the practice football field and the soccer field; his unkempt brown curls flying everywhere in the slight wind. He looked so peaceful. So  _ cute.  _ Bucky had thought he was cute from the moment he first laid eyes on him in the psych ward, but he told himself ‘psych ward crushes are not to be trusted.’ Bucky kept walking, too lost in thought to realize he was getting close…. _ too close  _ from what he could remember about the kid’s past. 

 

He stopped ten feet behind the guy and announced himself, “Hey Bruce, how's it goin’?”

 

The curly haired boy jumped, looking around him wildly, his jumpy eyes landed on Bucky and his face softened.

 

“Hey, it's the One-Armed Man! What are you doing here?” Bruce asked, softly.

 

“Oh, y’know, loitering,” Bucky deadpanned.

 

“Ah, me to,” he looked back to the football field and back to Bucky. He realized Bucky was standing a good ten plus feet away, “You can stand closer, Bucky, I won't hit you if you do.”

 

“I wouldn't care if you did, Bruce.” Bucky said, slowly approaching the volatile boy, he stopped three feet away from Bruce, leaning against the chain link fence.

 

Bruce scoffed at him, he looked over at Bucky and made direct eye contact with him, which was very out of character for Bruce as far as Bucky had deduced, “That's cuz you’re suicidal, pal.”

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Bruce. Bucky was damn tired of people telling him how he felt today, let alone the last two hours. 

 

“True,” he countered, “But I wouldn't want  _ you _ to take me out.”

 

Bucky meant it as a compliment. Of the limited amount of information he knew about Bruce, he knew how Bruce handled violence, he knew what set him off, he knew what drove him to finally attack back. And Bucky wasn't a piece of shit that would do that to Bruce.

 

“That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, Bucky.” Bruce looked back at Bucky, giving him a rare soft smile. “You wanna show me around this hellhole?”

 

“Yeah, I s’pose. Lemme see your schedule.”

 

*****

 

Bucky escorted Bruce through the halls to his first official class.

 

“I was suppose to go straight to Physics after enrolling but I needed a minute.” Bruce confided in him as they walked off the grounds and into the daunting building.

 

Bucky understood the need for a temporary respite from people like he understood what it felt to have his arm ripped off.

 

When they got to the science wing, Bruce offered Bucky his phone number. “Y’know, when it gets too much for us? Or to talk? Or, um, what do people our age do? Talk shit about teachers?” Bruce let out a soft, nervous laugh.

 

Bucky took out his phone to take Bruce’s number.

 

He had 13 missed calls, over 50 texts and an email from his therapist. “Shit,”

 

“Is something wrong?” Bruce asked nervously, “If you don’t wanna talk to me, it’s cool, I understand….”

 

“Oh, dude, no, it’s not you,” Bucky turned his phone for Bruce to see all the notifications, “My friends like to keep close tabs on me and I was avoiding them like bubonic plague. I  _ want  _ your number, Bruce.”

 

Bucky gave Bruce the warmest smile he could muster and he hoped it didn’t look fake. He didn’t want to hurt Bruce.

 

Bruce gave Bucky his number and Bucky immediately texted him a microscope emoji. Bruce’s butt chimed and Bucky bade him farewell.

 

Bucky looked at all his texts, he decided to text Steve first.

 

_ Alive. Heading to class. Tell the others.  _

 

Before he could shove his phone back into his pocket, his ringtone started to play softly.

 

It was Steve.

 

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” he asked his friend.

 

_ “Shouldn’t you be?”  _ Steve sounded frazzled,  _ “Where are you?” _

 

“Science wing; dropped a newbie off at their class.” Bucky continued to aimlessly wander down the hall towards the math wing.

 

_ “So, you’re secretly a student aid now? Where were you for the last two classes? We were worried!”  _

 

Bucky thought about lying to Steve. But Bucky had been lying to Steve for years now. So he might as well give him one truth amongst the absolute fuckery. “Smoking weed in the Wasteland toilets with Tony Stark.”

 

Bucky was expecting Steve to start screaming, but he didn’t. So Bucky assumed he was in class, secretly on the phone so he couldn’t start yelling and  _ questioning  _ Bucky’s entire list of shitty life choices. 

 

What he didn’t expect was Steve softly saying,  _ “Oh, weed with Stark? It was just weed, yeah?” _

 

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed, “Just weed.” And some weird emotional shit. But Steve didn’t need to hear that.

 

_ “We’ll talk about it on the way home, okay? I’m not mad, by the way. I was just worried.” _

 

“Yeah, okay, Steve, um, I’ll let you get back to class now.” He hung up the phone before he could hear anything else. 

 

Bucky was expecting Steve to freak out and launch himself into the hallways to track Bucky down and knock sense into him. He was expecting  _ another  _ intervention- but within the halls of their high school with everyone and their camera phones as witness. Bucky had smoked marijuana, something that was against his probation and terms of release from rehab and the hospital. He was  _ so fucked  _ when his “random” drug test came up next week.  But his best friend, his friend who liked to  _ rant  _ and  _ rave  _ about Bucky’s mistakes every morning on the drive to school seemed  _ chill  _ about the ordeal.

 

Steve’s calm response freaked Bucky out more. He thought about skipping the rest of his classes until a hand firmly landed on his good shoulder.

 

Bucky jumped to see who would have the audacity to touch him.

 

It was Thor. Six foot, five inches of Norwegian exchange student who had a knack for not putting up with anything from anyone.

 

“Steve sent me.” was all he said before grabbing him by the elbow and firmly leading him down the hall.

 

“I can get to class by myself, Thor,” Bucky sighed.

 

“You are not going to class; I am taking you to the school nurse.” Thor stated.

 

“ _ Why? _ ” Bucky stopped abruptly, which was hard to do with Thor leading him along.

 

Thor looked down at Bucky with his sad puppy eyes, “Steve said you were not feeling well and you needed to take ‘a moment.’”

 

Bucky laughed. Loudly. “Oh, Thor, I’ve taken ‘a moment’ today, trust me, pal. I’m good. Now escort a man to German, thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for reading! kudos and comments are like digital hugs, so please keep 'em coming!  
> (lol i didnt even know i was gonna add bruce to this chapter until i did (he's integral to the story tho))


	3. Smile Like You Mean It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my girl Maria for always putting up with my whining, motivating me to write, and giving me emotional high fives every update!! Love you!!

Thor had firmly placed his hand on Bucky’s back and guided him to the Language Wing of the building, per Bucky’s request.

 

“So, you don't wish to visit the nurse,  _ ja _ ?” Thor questioned him again.

 

Bucky let out a sigh, “Dude, I'm good. I just wanna go to class and, like, learn something.”

 

Thor gave him a skeptical look but remained mum.

 

Bucky's mood had  _ shifted.  _ He wasn’t feeling his usual dour _ ,  _ and silent self. He was damn sure Thor had picked up on it, too, with the soft side looks the Norwegian god-like boy was giving him every few seconds.

Bucky didn't know if it was the weed or seeing  _ Bruce,  _ but it felt nice to be not so hostile and distraught for once.

 

He hoped it was seeing Bruce and not the weed; he didn't need another illegal substance in his life to make him  _ feel  _ again. 

 

Bucky pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the time, the bell would ring in one minute and Bucky would already be waiting at the door of his next class. Which was nice: he wouldn't have to jostle through the crowds in the hallway.

 

He sent Bruce another text,  _ hope you liked doc’s class :) _

 

He placed his phone back in his pocket and walked along the hall. He wished he could get from class to class without having to deal with the rest of the student body. He wondered if he could bring it up with the school counselor; get out of class a minute early, make an easy commute to his next class. He hated breaks more than he hated class: to be stared at and talked about. But leaving class early was probably a privilege and he knew damn well the school wouldn't give him any privileges. 

 

They arrived outside Herr Wagner’s classroom just as the bell was ringing. The doors flew open and student began to fill up the hallways. Bucky pushed himself against the locker and Thor, sensing Bucky’s discomfort, shielded him from the crowds.

 

" _ Tusen takk,  _ Thor.” Bucky mumbled in Norwegian. The hustle and bustle in the Language Wing died down and Thor stepped away from Bucky.

 

“ _ Det var da så lite _ , _ Ja _ mes.” Thor pronounced the ‘Ja' in his name as  _ ya.  _ Thor chuckled as he strode down the hall, parting the crowds with only his near seven foot tall build.

 

“Damn tall asshole,” Bucky whispered to himself.

 

“Who’s a tall asshole?” a soft voice came from behind him.

 

Bucky turned to see Natasha. She was looking at him with far too much curiosity than normal. Her eyes were bright and alert, the corners of her mouth were turned up ever-so slightly and her arms were folded across her chest. She looked like a cat about to kill her prey.  He didn't like it. He had a cat once: the cat liked to bring dead animals to his bed in the middle of the night as a token of affection.  But in this situation, Bucky was Natasha’s prey and Steve was the recipient of her kill.

 

Bucky looked away from her and pointed to the fleeting head of Thor. She looked where he pointed. “Ah, Thor. He is tall. But not an asshole. His brother is an asshole.”

 

Bucky snorted. Loki was more than an asshole, but he didn’t speak of it.

 

“You wanna tell us where you were?” She asked after a beat.

 

_ ‘Us'  _ meaning, her, Steve, Clint, Sam, possibly his mother, and maybe even Wanda. They were a hive of overbearing bees that wanted to know every move Bucky made and at what time he made them. He was always accompanied by someone in his circle _ :  _ the only time he was alone was when he went to the toilet. And even then, Steve or his mother were usually hovering outside the door.

 

Bucky thought about her question for a second; he had told Steve where he was and what he had done and Steve always kept the rest of the group updated on everything-especially Bucky’s wherabouts and well-being since his release two months ago. Maybe he had told the rest about his whereabouts but not the cannabis use with Stark. Or Steve told them what Bucky had said verbatim. Or maybe he didn’t tell them anything and Nat was trying to get him to talk to her for once. He had been avoiding her the most, honestly, and she knew it.

 

He decided to lie to her. “I was disassociating in the toilet.” It wasn't a whole lie, just half of one.

 

She glared down at him, “For over an hour?”

 

“Um, I guess, I don’t really keep track of time in a dissociative state.” Bucky waltzed into the classroom, taking his seat in the back. He hoped Natasha would sit too, but she hovered over his desk.

 

“So who this new kid you showed to class?”

 

_ Please don’t ask about him. Why’d you have to ask about him.  _ He couldn't have one thing to himself, could he?

 

“Um, he was lost and I showed him to his class. His name is Bruce; he's cool.” Bucky tried to keep the warmth creeping up his cheeks hidden under his absurdly long hair but he couldn’t hide it from Natasha. Nothing could be hidden from Natasha, honestly.

 

“Okay, well, you should invite him to eat lunch with us tomorrow.” she turned away and took her seat in the front of the room as the bell rang.

 

Bucky didn't want Bruce to meet his friends. He wanted to keep those two parts of his life apart. 

  
  


German was a quality learning experience: Herr Wagner always had good stories to tell in German to help with the listening part of learning his native tongue. His favorite assignment was getting them to translate their own stories in German for him: Bucky always omitted the more nitty-gritty details. Bucky liked Wagner, he didn’t judge his students, he listened.

 

Natasha kept glancing over her shoulder at him from her seat in the front. He tried to give her a wry smile but that made her eyes narrow skeptically, so he flipped her the finger. The rude display satiated her and she turned back to the front. She didn't look back at him again, which was good because Bucky fantasized about running his hands through Bruce’s soft brown curls and ignoring his handout.

 

When the bell rang, he tried to book it out of the room as quickly as possible, but Natasha caught him in the doorway. 

 

_ Prey. I am prey. _

 

They walked out of the classroom and into the hallway. She didn’t ask anything more about his absence or Bruce. She didn’t say much at all, just followed Bucky to the wrong side of the building.

 

Bucky sighed and turned to her, “If you keep following me to the Lit Wing, you're gonna be late for Psych.”

 

“Yeah, but I also have one of Steve’s tardy passes.” She slid her hand into her back pocket and pulled out a yellow slip of paper.

 

The Ultimate Hall/Tardy Pass. Bucky was jealous. “How the fuck?”

 

“You,” she stated obviously and put the Pass back in her pocket. “He gave it to me during lunch in case I needed to slip away and find you if you didn't resurface.”

 

That was just peachy keen. “Well, that's nice. But I'm here now. At my class. And if you don't go now, you'll have to waste that golden ticket for nothing.”

 

That caught her attention and she waved goodbye and started to sprint down the emptying hallways.

  
  


English was a bore; who fucking cares about Plath’s  _ The Bell Jar _ !? And what she really meant? She was racist! 

 

But racists are allowed to flourish.  _ Shocker. _

 

Luckily, the teacher wasn't in the mood to drone on for the whole hour and he dismissed class ten minutes early. 

 

Bucky stepped out of his last class of the day and sighed heavily to himself. He made it another day. Another measly day.

  
  


Green flyers were plastered all over school that weren't there when Bucky walked into English class forty minutes prior. It was the nauseating neon green hue that Bucky hated  _ for reasons.  _ Which also meant it was a Guardians Party.

 

They were taped everywhere: on lockers, classroom doors, stall doors in the restroom that Bucky used quickly, random bits of walls, bulletin boards. Everywhere.

 

Bucky plucked one off the football trophy case as he waited for Steve to meet him.

  
  


**GUARDIAN PARTY**

**THE COOLEST KIDS IN SKOOL INVITE YOU TO AN 80S THEMED PARTY AT**

 

**THE TITAN MANSION**

 

**EVERYONE WELCOME**

**NO EXCLUSIONS**

**NO DRUGS (PLS)**

**NEXT FRIDAY**

**7PM - WHEN THE COPS SHOW UP**

 

Bucky sighed. The Guardians parties were  _ legendary.  _ The social events of the year. Everyone went because everyone was invited. Gamora, Peter, Arthur, Nebula, Yondu, and Rocket made sure no one was excluded from anything. They probably were the coolest kids in  _ skool.  _ Or maybe just the wackiest.

 

Bucky folded the flyer up and shoved it in his jacket pocket. A part of him wanted to go, but he knew that would only dredge up memories of when he was at his lowest. He hadn't been to any parties since New Year’s and that was a good thing. He didn't even have a birthday party this year.

 

And it wasn't like he  _ could  _ go anyway: it was against his probation terms to attend school-related parties.

 

He tried to talk the small part of him out of wanting to go:  _ you have severe social anxiety. You are a recovering drug addict. No one likes you anyway. The last time you went to a a party, your party friend died. _

 

Bucky cringed and tried not to think about that.  _ No, no, no.  _ The memories were coming back to him in short bursts: The drugs. The lights. The screams. The  _ bed.  _

 

Before he could spiral further down, Steve’s soft face was inches from his, his eyes were sad, and his voice was low, searching. “Buck, you okay?”

 

Steve had  _ that look  _ on his face. That soft, concerned look Bucky melted for.

 

_ Nonono, don't think about that either.  _

 

Bucky nodded reluctantly. He couldn't speak: Steve's hands were firmly placed on his shoulders and his blue eyes were still looking into Bucky’s.

 

It was an old fantasy.

 

Bucky gave him a weak smile, “Yeah, just got lost in thought.”

 

Steve squeezed his shoulders and let go. “Okay, Bucky. So we should talk about your day, yeah?”

 

“I told you the gist of it,” he said softly. 

They didn’t move from the trophy case. It was their usual meeting spot on days when Steve had football practice or newspaper club, Bucky would sit and wait the few hours until Steve was done. But, thankfully, today wasn't one of those days. 

 

It wasn’t until Steve stepped to the side, placed his backpack down and slid to the floor that Bucky realized Sam was standing beside him, too.

 

Bucky scoffed loudly. He didn’t like Sam. He was a good guy and he was there for Steve when Bucky was gone. But Bucky felt like Sam replaced him as Steve’s best friend. Sam could go to parties and football games and social events, so of course they got to know each other. Sam and Steve talked about their  _ feelings  _ and shared things and gossiped. Sam even hosted slumber parties and their entire friend groups were invited. Except Bucky. Because he wasn’t allowed to go out.

 

“Hey, Bucky, you good?” Sam asked kindly.

 

Fuckin’ kind Sam Wilson and his  _ kindness.  _

 

“Peachy keen, jelly bean.” he deadpanned back.

 

“So I was thinking, man,” he inched closer towards Bucky, “I know you’re not allowed to go out, but what if we had a sleepover at your house? I was thinking the night of the Guardians party, that way you don’t feel left out of anything.”

 

Bucky turned to Sam, “Will there be face masks and Ouija Boards?” 

 

Sam laughed. “Only if you want, man. But someone else is gonna have to buy the Ouija Board cuz I don’t fuck with those.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” he wanted to hang out with Sam for Steve’s sake even if the jealousy turned him into an ugly monster . “Who else are we gonna invite?” He turned to look at Steve for reassurance and a potential guest list; but Steve had his eyes glued to his phone, texting someone at lightning speed.

 

“Definitely Clint and Natasha. I was also thinking Bobbi, Wanda and Pietro-”

 

“No Pietro.” Bucky said quickly. Pietro was a speed kid. 

 

“Oh?” Sam gave him a look.

 

“Just not him. Wanda is fine, but not Pietro.” he said firmly.

 

Sam didn’t fight him on it. He kept naming people and Bucky would say yes or no. With the number of potential invitees, it was turning into more than a slumber party, but Bucky didn’t mention that. It was a party. 

 

His phone started to ring, he pulled it out of his pocket, saw it was Bruce and answered it, “How was your day?” he started without preamble. Sam shook his head at him and went to sit by Steve.

 

_ “Good. Say, are you the scared looking kid standing by two jocks in front of a trophy case?”  _ Bruce’s voice sounded like he was flirting. 

 

Bucky looked around the clearing hallways until he saw Bruce standing by the counselors office, he gave the other boy a wide smile. “Yes. You wanna save me from them?”

 

_ “Ooh, I dunno, the blond looks scary,”  _ Bruce was slowly walking towards him now.

 

“Fret not,” Bucky turned to look at Steve and Sam; Steve’s eyebrows were trying to reach his hairline as he looked from Bucky to Bruce. “He’s like a golden retriever: all bark no bite.”

 

Bruce laughed as he stopped in front of Bucky, hanging up on him. “That’s an odd thing to say about someone.”

 

“Yeah, but this is  _ Steve.”  _ Bucky clarified. Bucky told Bruce things about Steve when they were in the hospital together, so he hoped Bruce would add two and two together.

 

Bruce looked at him for a few seconds before a soft  _ ah _ , escaped his mouth. So he did put it together. 

 

“Hey, Steve,” Bruce waved over Bucky’s shoulders. “Nice to meet you, I’m Bruce Banner.”

 

Steve tucked his phone in his pocket and stood up to greet Bruce. “Nice to meet you, Bruce. I'm Steve, obviously.” 

 

Bruce subconsciously took a step back from Steve's large and overpowering frame. “Nice to meet you.”

 

Steve didn't say anything about the back step, he knew some people had issues and didn't want to be too close to others. Like, Bucky. So he backed up a little too and apologized.

 

“No problem, Steve, I just came by to say thanks for the directions earlier, Bucky and to ask for more directions.” Bruce looked between Steve and Bucky with an odd expression on his face. 

 

“Sure, man, where do you need to go?” Steve asked before Bucky could.

 

“The city bus stop. Specifically, bus thirty-one that goes by the university.” Bruce said lowly.

 

“Oh, that’s across Vermont and Kings, by the Taco Bell.” Bucky said. He knew the bus system better than Steve; having taken it when he could. 

 

“But we can give you a ride home.” Steve offered. “It's near us.” 

 

The university was nowhere near them.

 

Bruce tried to turn them down, but Bucky shot him a soft look that said it was okay. Bruce finally relented. They said goodbye to Sam after introducing him to Bruce and headed off into the parking lot.

  
  


Bucky offered to sit in the middle of the truck for Bruce’s comfort. 

 

The ride was more awkward than the three teenage boys wanted to admit: all Bruce Said were the directions to his aunt's townhouse; Bucky fiddled with the radio stations and told Steve for the umpteenth time to invest in a CD player or a Bluetooth system and Steve kept his eyes on the road and his hands at 10 and 2.

 

Separately, they would have been fine: Steve or Bucky or Bucky and Bruce. But Bucky knew how Bruce felt about  _ football players.  _ That's why he offered to sit in the middle.

 

When they pulled into Bruce’s driveway, Steve offered to pick Bruce up in the morning but his offer was shot down quicker than it left Steve’s mouth.

 

“I'll be fine, Steve. My aunt might take me or I might take the bus. It's a mystery!” He gave Bucky a small smile before exiting the truck, “See you in school.” 

 

Steve waited until Bruce entered his house, waving and closing the door before he put the truck in reverse and pulled out of the driveway. The faux smile that was plastered on his face while Bruce was with them was gone now. He had what Bucky called, his  _ game face _ on.

 

Bucky scooted as close to the door as he could get. He thought that maybe the physical distance between him and his best friend would help with the upcoming onslaught of disappointment Steve was likely to start up with any second now.

 

They drove down unfamiliar streets in silence until Steve softly asked Bucky where the nearest McDonald's was.

 

“I think off Chestnut and Cherry,” Bucky answered, “Why?” 

 

Steve kept driving in silence until they got to Cherry Street. He turned and drove down the second busiest street in the city until he finally started to speak. “So, why marijuana with Stark?”

 

Bucky could tell Steve was trying to keep his voice level and calm. It meant he wasn’t trying to be pushy or judgement; which was a complete one-eighty from the morning commute.

 

“I dunno,” Bucky finally said, “He was there. I was there. He offered. I decided why the hell not.”

 

Bucky looked at Steve from the side of his eye, Steve’s facial expression was neutral.

 

“The Wasteland toilets, is that right?” Steve asked softly.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed.

 

Steve’s face contorted with disgust. “Ew. Those things are putrid.” 

 

“Yeah, I know. Stark said they made the  _ Candyman  _ movies look like the cleanest things in the world or something like that.”

 

“Well, he’s not wrong.” Steve said with a bit of laughter in his voice as he finally pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot and into the drive-thru. “You want anything?”

 

“A chicken club, if you’re buying,” Bucky wasn’t allowed to carry cash with him either. Which was a pain in the ass if he wanted a drink from the vending machines. “Oh! And a diabetic coma! Large.”

 

After they received their order, Steve pulled into a parking spot and started to shove chicken tender after chicken tender into his face, taking small sips of his Sprite between. If Bucky didn’t know Steve as well as he did, he would think the star quarterback was just real fuckin’ hungry. But Bucky knew exactly what Steve was doing: he was trying not to talk. 

 

“I swore at Tony Stark for giving you weed, by the way.” Steve finally said. “He said it's medical marijuana and there is no THC so it won't show up in the drug test.”

 

Bucky nearly choked on his large sweet tea. “Oh fucking hell!” He was relieved beyond words. He didn't wanna go back to rehab. “That's a relief.”

 

“Yes, it is.” He agreed, “But the most disappointing thing is that you accepted  _ drugs  _ from someone.” Steve was trying to keep his voice level and firm, but Bucky could tell he was pissed.

 

“I won't do it again,” he looked his best friend in the eyes, “I swear on my mother's life.”

 

Steve finished his fries before saying anything. “I believe you. So how about this slumber party next weekend?”

 

Bucky couldn't believe it would be that easy. He remained distrustful of Steve’s cool nature, but didn't test it. This odd acceptance was better than this morning's rants.

  
“Yeah, that  _ slumber party… _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just gonna update and recheck it later! Thank you everyone for reading and commenting! Love you all too!!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this!! kudos and comments are always motivation!!!


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